


A Marriage of Inconvenience

by closetfangirl77



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, F/M, Forced Marriage, Frenemies, Marriage, Meddling, Not Epilogue Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 11:13:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1938810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/closetfangirl77/pseuds/closetfangirl77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione and Ron apply for their marriage license, only to discover Hermione is more than a Muggle-born, and she's bound by an ancient magical contract to marry the one person she despises more than any other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> I recently watched the HP movies with my kids, which led to reading the books again, and this idea germinated. I don't know how often I'll be updating, but it kept pestering me until I promised to write it down.

Chapter One

Hermione resisted the urge to pull her hand from Ron’s to wipe her sweaty palm on her robe. She had no reason to be nervous. They’d been planning to do this for months, and today, they’d both been free. Ron had taken the day off from Auror training, and she wasn’t scheduled a shift for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement until tonight. If it was like many other evenings, duties would be limited to sitting in the office before the fireplace awaiting an urgent message via owl or Floo that rarely came.

At least she would have time to finish reading Professor Snape’s newest article in _Alchemica Annals_ detailing his improvements on the potion St. Mungo’s healers had created to keep him alive after Nagini’s vicious attack and the subsequent blood loss. She was particularly interested in reading how he had used a modified anticoagulant charm, coupled with the antitoxin, to create the elixir he had to consume daily to stay alive.

It struck her as a tad _wrong_ that she was more eagerly anticipating reading the trade journal than performing the task at hand, but she tried to ignore that thought. She smiled at Mr. Weasley, who had offered to meet them and act as their witness, since his office was just two floors above. It seemed strange to her that one required a witness for a simple verification and license issuance, but she knew from personal experience that Muggles often had just as many strange and quirky bureaucratic steps.

Taking a deep breath, she entered the Ministry’s Department of Marriage Licenses and Familial Verifications. Once they finished with this step, there was nothing left to do before the wedding, tentatively scheduled for six weeks from today at the Burrow, besides finish the myriad little details. Why did that thought make her brow bead with perspiration?

She was on nodding familiarity with the wizard manning the front desk. Barley Whizbanger was a diminutive little man, with a long beard that would have rivaled Dumbledore’s in color and length, but a bald head. He wore a turquoise robe and hat, perched jauntily across his pate. His bare upper lip, which practically screamed for an impressive mustache to match his beard, curled upward in a bright smile when he saw Arthur Weasley. “How are you today, Arthur?”

“Well, Barley, thanks.”

“How’s Molly?”

“Still with Bill and Fleur. Baby Victoire isn’t much for sleeping through the night yet, so they’re run ragged.”

“Give it time,” advised Barley, though everyone in the office knew he had no children. Not even a cache of nieces and nephews or godchildren. “Now, what can I do for you, Auror Weasley?” Giving Hermione a suggestive grin, he said, “As if I don’t know, huh?” His high-pitched giggle made him sound like he’d imbibed a Whistling Wobbler, one of George’s newest inventions.

Ron’s ears turned bright red. “Not really an auror yet, bloke. Just in training.”

Barley waved a hand. “Just a matter of time, you know. As one of Dumbledore’s Army, you can write your own ticket, laddie.”

Ron looked confused, perhaps unfamiliar with the Muggle saying, which reminded Hermione the older man was from Muggle-born parents, just like her.

“We don’t need a ticket, just a license,” said Ron, brow wrinkled.

“Big day, big day!” He practically hopped up and down in his excitement, the hat listing precariously. He needed a good Sticking Charm to keep it on. “Come right over here, my dears.” He gestured them to a large book at the end of the counter.

Hermione breathed in the scent as he lifted the leather cover to reveal the parchment pages. How she loved books. It didn’t matter the subject or the author. She loved Muggle books and wizarding books. Spell books, history books, and even romance books. They all appealed to her—though this particular tome gave her more of a flutter of anxiety than anticipation.

His thin fingers flipped deftly to the “W” section, easily finding the Weasley family, which took up a good tenth of the large volume by itself. “Yes, Mr. Weasley, your bloodlines are well documented. Unlikely to be any conflict with Ms. Granger’s, but still protocol...”

Barley didn’t flip to the Gs. “No point,” he said. “Muggle-borns don’t have established bloodlines.”

“What is the purpose of this?” she asked crisply. “Verifying bloodlines didn’t originate with trying to keep the wizard lines Muggle-free, did it?” If so, she was adamantly not going through the process, even if it meant there would be no marriage license to provide legal recognition at the Ministry. They would just marry under the old laws, which she had read about before. Their magic would bind them, which was a far stronger and longer-lasting bond than a Ministry license. Her stomach dipped with nausea, and she decided it must have been the second bacon sandwich she’d eaten less than an hour ago.

Barley shook his head. “No, no, Ms. Granger. Just a matter of ensuring you aren’t too closely related to your spouse. I suppose, in a way, the practice did originate with the pureblood crowd, but it was because of their insistence of keeping Muggles out of the mix. They were inbreeding at an alarming rate.” He clicked his tongue. “All kinds of problems, let me tell you. Magic wasn’t mixing properly, deformities, oddities.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “If you want to know where squibs come from, look no further, Ms. Granger. The creation of non-magical children didn’t sit well with the purebloods, so they came up with the idea of checking bloodlines and tracking familial histories to ensure there would be no squibs.”

She lifted a brow, intrigued by the theory. It was unproven, at least by anything she had read, but that didn’t mean Whizbanger wasn’t correct. It made a terrible sort of sense, since she knew many purebloods adamantly hated Muggles. They likely had felt the same way about “inferior” squibs as well. Overall, it made her feel better about the whole thing.

Ron went first, holding out his hand so Barley could take a drop of his blood with what looked like a Muggle fingerstick machine. She was surprised to see something so simple, but assumed it might have to do with the other wizard’s Muggle origins. Her fiancé, brave enough to enter the Chamber of Secrets with her to retrieve a basilisk tooth, flinched and looked dizzy as the small drop of blood welled before Barley pressed it to a spot on a blank piece of parchment.

She watched, fascinated, as the blood soaked in, and a series of lines networked out from it, looking much like the veins in leaves—or branches of a tree. A series of names appeared on the various lines, and she was able to pick out Arthur Weasley. The parchment had mapped his entire family history for several generations. After a moment, the spot where the blood had absorbed glowed green. He tapped it with his wand, muttering, “Tableau Rosa,” and the parchment returned to its blank state once more.

“Excellent.” Barley returned to the large book, carefully entering Ron’s name on the family bloodlines and putting a small star beside it. “Your family history is in order. No surprises.” He gave Arthur a cheeky grin. “Not that we expected any. One can thank the Weasleys for populating half of wizarding Britain.” He chortled as Arthur and Ron both flushed.

“Now, Ms. Granger, a finger please.”

She held out her hand, keeping her expression bland as he poked her with the sharp little needle. A drop of her blood welled, and Barley pressed it to the parchment, which felt soft and worn under her finger. Tilting her head for a better look, Hermione watched as her familial lines appeared. Her mother would have loved to see this, as she was very interested in the Muggle hobby of genealogy.

Thinking of her mother gave her a pang in her chest, reminding her that her parents were still lost to her. Their memories of Hermione had not been recovered when she had tried to un-obliviate them, leaving her essentially an orphan. She assumed Dumbledore would have been able to help her find and solve the problem, had he still been alive, but she knew of no other wizard powerful enough that would be inclined to help her. Perhaps Professor Snape, but he preferred his solitude at Hogwarts, left alone to brew potions in the dungeon. The title of professor was more honorific than anything these days, because he spent little time in the classroom, according to Minerva.

She forced her thoughts from the sad state of her family as the rest of her chart formed. To her surprise, the parchment grew magically, stretching well over three feet in length before the names and lines stopped forming. “It’s certainly thorough, isn’t it?” she remarked.

Barley’s brow had scrunched, making him look rather like a sharpei dog. He stroked his whiskers. “Curious. It doesn’t usually go back so many generations, even when mapping previously undocumented Muggle-borns. Five or six is the typical. Beyond that, it isn’t so important if families were once closely related.”

To her great surprise, the last names appeared on the parchment, and her eyes widened with surprise: _Godric Gryffindor – Asalda Stormcaller-Gryffindor_

“Well, would you look at that?” asked Barley, sounding delighted. “No wonder it traced you all the way back, Ms. Granger. You’re a descendent of Gryffindor himself.”

“Blimey, ‘Mione, you really are the Gryffindor princess,” said Ron with a huge grin.

She shook her head in amazement. “But when did my family become Muggles?”

Barley traced the lines backward from Godric and Asalda, tapping several generations in. “Ah, here we are. Looks like their great-grandson married a Muggle girl. For some reason, he chose to live among the Muggles.” Squinting, he said, “Ah, yes, that explains it. Their child was a squib. Would have been much more comfortable for the boy in the Muggle world, rather than having the enormous pressure of being a Gryffindor descendent without magical talent. Looks like your branch of the family stayed in the Muggle world after that, though an occasional witch or wizard popped up in subsequent generations.”

“Fascinating,” said Arthur, “But what does that mean?” He was pointing to the blood spot that had turned a brilliant vermillion, unlike Ron’s green.

Barley frowned, suddenly abandoning his inspection of the bloodlines. “Not possible.” He waved his wand, muttering something, before looking up at Hermione. “Have you already pledged to another, Ms. Granger?”

Her eyes widened. “What? Of course not.”

He performed another bit of magic, turning rather pale. “Strange, very strange.” Clearing his throat, he bellowed, “Sholto Zabini, come here.”

A tall, black wizard entered the office from another room, looking harried. He strongly resembled Blaise Zabini, leading Hermione to guess he was an older brother or close relative. “Yes, Mr. Whizbanger?”

“Bring me the red book on the very highest shelf. You know the one,” said Barley with special emphasis.

Zabini’s eyes widened, and he nodded smartly before going through yet another door. They could hear bangs and a crash that suggested a cascade of heavy objects had fallen, followed by a loud, “Bloody hell.” Less than a moment later, Zabini returned to them, smoothing his gray robes. He handed the book to Whizbanger before moving to the side.

Whizbanger opened the little red book, and it glowed with a golden light that made Hermione shiver with dread. He tapped his wand against the binding, and the book opened flat on the desk, pages ruffling as though a strong wind had blown through it, until it settled to a page nearly three-fourths of the way through. “Yes, yes. Here it is.”

Barley finally looked up at them again. “I’m sincerely sorry, Ms. Granger, but I cannot issue you a marriage license to join with Mr. Weasley.”

She was discomfited by a giddy rush of relief that made her head spin, but quickly suppressed that reaction. “Um, what? Why?”

“Because you are already promised to another.”

She scowled. “Not bloody likely, Whizbanger.”

“What kind of dark magic is this?” demanded Ron. “I demand to see the Minister.”

“Kingsley can’t fix this, Ron,” said Arthur, sounding the most calm of all of them. “Please allow Barley to explain.”

“And start with just who exactly I’m supposed to be marrying.” Hermione crossed her arms over her chest.

The little wizard looked uneasy as he licked his lips. Clearly reluctant to say the name, he finally whispered, “Draco Malfoy.”

 


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why they're betrothed.

Hermione must have passed out, which she would have found embarrassing under normal conditions. Right now, she was still too stunned and sickened to worry about her appalling lack of courage or show of weakness. These weren’t normal conditions by any stretch of the imagination.

Someone pressed a hot potion into her hand. Her nose tingled, and she recognized it as PepperUp when she sneezed. With a grimace, she drank deeply, certain she tasted a hint of Firewhiskey as well. Bless whoever had the forethought to lace the PepperUp. She required all the fortitude she could acquire, be it from internal or external sources.

She was tense with anticipation, knowing Malfoy would show up at any moment. Zabini had entered the fireplace to fetch him personally, Whizbanger having deemed the matter too sensitive to trust to an owl.

Ron was still pacing and shouting, demanding answers, while Arthur tried to calm his youngest son. And she sat as still as a statue, unable to find her voice to join Ron in clamoring for answers. Why bother? Whizbanger would just have to repeat it all again for Malfoy. She had a feeling she wouldn’t want to hear it once, let alone many times.

All too soon, the fire flared green, and Zabini stepped out, Draco Malfoy behind him. To her dismay, Narcissa followed her son. At least she wouldn’t have to contend with Lucius Malfoy, who would be in Azkaban for a long time yet.

“What the bloody hell is going on?” demanded Draco, sounding like the egotistical git he was. “You interrupt our lunch with the insistence that we come right away. Who are you to summon us?” He frowned when his gaze rested on Ron, who was still flushed and seemed to be barely holding in-check the compulsion to continue ranting.

She shivered when his pale gray eyes moved to her, almost desperately wishing she could faint again. That was cowardly, but she wanted this to be over, and only her stubborn Gryffindor pride kept her from running from the office, hands in ears.

Malfoy seemed to dial back his arrogance a tad. “What is going on, Granger?”

Should she be surprised that he would ask her, with her know-it-all swotty reputation? She just shrugged, still clasping the empty goblet like a lifeline.

“Thank you for joining us, Mr. Malfoy. I had heard you and Ms. Greengrass were planning a visit here shortly.” Whizbanger broke off, apparently realizing he had chosen the wrong way to begin the conversation.

Malfoy glared. “In our time. Explain why you’ve summoned me.”

For once, she was glad to have Malfoy’s demanding attitude, knowing it would prove useful at the moment.

“Erm, Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger came for their license, you see.”

“Congratulations, Weasel,” he said, just a hint of his old malice showing through. Clearly, being called to the office had left him less civil than he had been on previous occasions when they had interacted after the Battle of Hogwarts.

Ron gave him a rude gesture that was equally shocking in the Muggle and wizarding world. Hermione and Narcissa both gasped. To her surprise, Malfoy just grinned.

“There was a problem. Most unusual, you see…” Whizbanger seemed completely disorganized. “The parchment, you see…”

“I see nothing, because you haven’t gotten to the blasted point,” barked Malfoy, obviously reaching the end of his patience.

“It wouldn’t let me marry Ron,” said Hermione.

“That’s, um, tragic, Granger, but what has it to do with me?”

A hysterical laugh burst from her mouth, punctuating her words as she said, “Whizbanger claims you and I are betrothed.”

Malfoy flinched, looking as nonplussed as she felt. “That’s preposterous.”

“Bloody right,” said Ron. “Blasted thing’s faulty.”

“It’s all right here,” said Whizbanger, opening the book. “If you’ll all quiet down, I’ll try to explain…” The older wizard appeared on the edge of apoplexy as they continued arguing amid a babble of voices.

A shower of sparks suddenly shot into the sky, providing a lovely light show on the ceiling. “Oi, shut it,” said Zabini, and everyone fell silent, likely as surprised as Hermione by the command.

“As we all know, Hogwarts was founded over a thousand years ago by the brightest witches and wizards of the age.”

“How does this relate to anything?” inquired Narcissa in a pleasant tone, though her eyes were flashing with annoyance.

“Silence, please,” said Whizbanger. “Salazar Slytherin left after a disagreement about welcoming Muggle-borns into the castle. What many don’t know is that this caused great turmoil in Hogwarts.”

“Who bloody cares?” muttered Ron.

“The castle felt its loyalties were divided. It was pandemonium. Nothing could be done. Essentially, Hogwarts ground to a halt.” Whizbanger looked down at his book, though he seemed to know the tale by heart. “The other three approached Slytherin, begging him to return. He refused, telling them he would never set foot in there again, and only his true heir would be able to fix the problems within the castle.”

“By killing the _Mudbloods_ ,” said Hermione scathingly. “Some solution.”

“Eventually, they came to a compromise. Slytherin refused to return, but he did agree to a reconciliation between the cofounders. His solution was a marriage between the Slytherin line and one of the remaining houses. He and Gryffindor agreed a male and female from each of their lines, born in the five-hundredth generation, would marry. Hogwarts was appeased with the gesture and allowed life to return to normal.”

Malfoy was scowling. “I still don’t see what this has to do with any of us.”

“You are the lucky five hundred,” said Whizbanger with a feeble smile.

Malfoy’s scowl deepened. “Explain.”

“If I could have a drop of your blood, Mr. Malfoy?”

Hermione watched Malfoy extend his hand. Feeling slightly calmer, she got up from the chair someone had installed her in to stand near the parchment. As it had done with her, the blood drop blossomed into a series of lines, the parchment growing until the last name appeared _: Salazar Slytherin – Dormedia Pickforth_. To her great interest, Dormedia was an offshoot to Salazar’s left, joined by a squiggly red line. A solid black line to Salazar’s right joined him with Catarina Joones-Slytherin. They’d had many offspring, but there was only the one boy for Dormedia and Slytherin.

“Divorce?” she asked, though she had an inkling that wasn’t the case.

Whizbanger shook his head, just the slightest trace of amusement in his gaze. He seemed to derive some pleasure from revealing salacious origins to the Malfoys. “Mistress. She was a seventh-year in his House when he left Hogwarts. Salazar was already married with a few children at that point. When it came time to make the magical contract with Gryffindor, he deliberately chose a descendent from his bastard son’s side. He considered his legitimate heirs too good to be involved in the debacle.”

Malfoy frowned. “You’re claiming the Malfoys are descended from Slytherin?”

“A bastard Slytherin,” inserted Ron, looking inordinately pleased.

Narcissa clicked her tongue. “That isn’t possible.”

“I assure you it is, Lady Malfoy. It would be impossible to tamper with the parchment.”

“As impossible as tampering with the Goblet of Fire?” asked Hermione with an air of speculation. “A powerful Confundus Charm—”

“And why would someone bother, Granger?” asked Malfoy.

She shrugged, floundering for an explanation that made sense. She was desperate for any alternative to present itself.

He ran a hand through his hair, disheveling the silvery-blond locks. “Let’s assume we are Slytherin descendents. What does that have to do with Granger? She’s a Mud—Muggle-born.”

“And also a direct descendent of the legitimate Gryffindor heir,” said Ron triumphantly, before deflating. He seemed to realize that being able to share that news with Malfoy wasn’t worth the sacrifice of not being able to marry Hermione.

“There you have it. All nice and tidy,” said Whizbanger, as he closed the red book. Its pages still glowed faintly.

“Tidy?” Malfoy looked thunderstruck. “This is anything but, Whizbanger. How do we get out of it?”

“Get out of it?” The old wizard looked puzzled.

“There must be a way to break it,” said Hermione.

Barley shook his head. “Oh, no. It’s completely binding. Very strong magic, you see.”

“I don’t see how it binds us. We didn’t sign it,” she said.

“Oh, it’s old magic, my dear, from the time when parents often brokered marriages for their children, typically without any input from the intended affianced.” He sighed. “Times have changed, but this contract is ironclad. Whoever forged it knew what he was doing. Probably Slytherin and/or Gryffindor themselves.”

“Give me the book.” Narcissa thrust out her hand. “Our solicitors will find a way, son.”

“Oh, please do,” said Hermione, feeling the shameful urge to cry. It was a strange day to find all her hopes pinned on the Malfoys. Of course they would be motivated to find a way out, because Draco was no more anxious to marry her than she was to even entertain the idea. He wanted to marry Astoria, and she wanted to marry Ron. Right?

Of course she did. Things weren’t as exciting as she had hoped, and they certainly had a great many differences, but that didn’t mean she was ready to end the relationship. It certainly didn’t make her eager to marry Draco in place of her Hogwarts sweetheart. She couldn’t imagine anything more dreadful than being married to the man who had tormented her for so many years during their time in school. Even some of his gestures during the war with Voldemort couldn’t redeem his previous bad acts.


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco brings bad news.

Hermione waited on tenterhooks for the next three days as the Malfoys’ lawyers perused the contract, looking for an escape clause. She was so on-edge that she screamed and spilled her tea when his face appeared in her fireplace that evening. A wave of her wand cleaned up the mess, and a quick charm dealt with the burns from the scalding tea.

“Sorry, Granger. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

She nodded. “It’s all right. I’m rather glad to see you actually.”

He frowned. “That might not be true for long. Do you mind if I come to your home through the Floo network? Or would you prefer to come to the Manor?”

She couldn’t hide a shudder, recalling her last visit there. “Come to me please. Allow me a few minutes to drop my wards.”

He nodded, and then his face disappeared from the flames. Hermione modified her wards to temporarily accept Draco’s presence just seconds before her fire turned green, and he stepped out of it. He was smartly dressed in black slacks and a matching turtleneck sweater, with a black robe over his shoulders. She blinked at the surprising revelation that she was checking out Draco. _Wouldn’t be the first time_ , whispered a voice in her head that she firmly quashed.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” She gestured toward the pot on the coffee table. “It wouldn’t be a bother to fetch another cup.”

Malfoy looked haggard. “I’d rather have a shot or twelve of firewhiskey. Suppose you’re too goody-goody for that?” He arched a pale brow.

Pursing her lips, she walked over to the large globe in the corner, spinning it precisely one hundred and twelve degrees, so that the top opened. “Iced or straight, Malfoy?”

“Straight. Might want one yourself, Granger.”

Her stomach churned with nerves as she poured them both a generous serving of the firewhiskey. He took his tumbler with a nod and sat down on her wingback chair. More like collapsed against it. “It’s bad news, isn’t it?”

He scowled. “The worst kind. Our solicitors can do nothing. There is no loophole. We’re bound by the contract.”

A heavy weight seemed to settle on her shoulders. “Oh, dear.” Sighing, she said, “We aren’t allowed to marry other people, but that’s fine.” A spark of relief was spreading through her, and she almost smiled slightly. She hadn’t realized how ambivalent she was toward the whole concept of marriage before this nightmare. “I’ll just explain to Ron that I can’t marry him, but we’ll still be together. Will Astoria accept that?”

He shrugged. “I doubt it. She wants to be the next Lady Malfoy. Propriety, and all that.”

She nodded. “I’m sorry, Malfoy. This is dreadful.”

He exhaled. “Not your fault a couple of moldering corpses set us up for this a millennium ago.”

“Still, perhaps Astoria will come around when she realizes there’s no choice. You’d be together in everything except married name. You might even be able to bind your magic to marry that way.”

Malfoy scrubbed a hand down his face. “You haven’t heard the worst, Granger…Hermione. Not only can’t we marry anyone else, we actually have to marry each other.”

She shook her head. “That’s just silly. They can’t make us marry each other. We can just remain unmarried.”

“It’s not that simple. The sly old bastards wanted to ensure we didn’t have that option, so they put in a time limit. As soon as the youngest of us was born, it started a countdown, of sorts.”

“Countdown?” she asked numbly. “What sort of—”

“If we don’t marry, we’ll both perish.”

She blinked. “You mean we have to get married to stay alive?”

Again, he scrubbed at his face, focusing on his bloodshot eyes as if to clear them. “Yes, Hermione.” His lip curled. “And lest you think marrying me would be a fate worse than death, you should know your precious Hogwarts is at stake too.”

She blinked, surprised by the mention of Hogwarts, but not that he’d guessed she had been considering if it was worth dying to avoid being Malfoy’s wife. “What’ll happen to Hogwarts?”

“The same as a thousand years ago. The castle will fall into confusion and no longer function. The school will shut down. All the professors will have to find new positions, and the students will have to go somewhere like Durmstrang.”

“Not Hogwarts.” She bit her lip. “When does the countdown end?”

“Twenty years after a birth triggered it. I was born in April. You?”

“January,” she said numbly.

He snorted. “Happy birthday to me then, Hermione. If we aren’t married within two weeks, we’ll die, and Hogwarts will fall into chaos.”

Her fingers trembled as she reached for her whiskey, surprised to find she had already drunk it all. “What shall we do, Draco?” His name felt strange on her tongue.

“I guess we’ll get married.”

She scowled. “What choice do we have? Well, I suppose we could do something small and quick. Kingsley has the authority to perform marriages, doesn’t he?”

Draco shrugged. “I don’t know. I think so. However, there is more.”

She set down her empty tumbler. “It gets worse?”

“You have no idea, Gran…Hermione.”

She squared her shoulders, calling on her Gryffindor courage. It couldn’t be any worse than facing Bellatrix LeStrange. “Well, best tell me all, Draco, and get it over with.”

He nodded. “Hogwarts was an integral part of the contract, so we’ll have to have the ceremony there.”

“I doubt Minerva will mind.”

“Likely not.” A hint of color crept up his neck. “We also have to consummate the union in the castle, Hermione.”

In contrast, she could feel the blood draining from her face. “You mean…”

He nodded, looking grim. “A fake marriage won’t satisfy that bloody castle. It has to consider us truly married.”

Her hands were back to shaking. “And do we have to _stay_ married? Is Hogwarts going to insist on us living there, monitoring our every move?” she asked bitterly.

“Not as far as my solicitors can decipher. For all intents and purposes, it appears we are obligated to a ceremony and one night of sex. Nothing else is required of us.”

She huffed. “Oh, is that all? Bloody terrific. That’s hardly a thing at all, is it?” She sneered. “Ron will be just fine with us sleeping together, Malfoy. Won’t Astoria be thrilled as well?”

He drained the last of his whiskey without hurry. His movements were graceful, and his voice oddly calm when he said, “I’ve broken it off with Astoria, Hermione. She might as well be free to find someone else. I figured you’d either be so bloody stubborn that we’d both die, or we’ll end up with a mockery of a marriage. Either way, there’s no point in encouraging her to stick around.”

“Are you saying I should break up with Ron?” Her heart absolutely did not lighten a bit at the thought, she chastised herself.

He lifted a shoulder. “I suppose that’s between you and Weasley. I can’t say I’m thrilled with the idea of my wife having a boyfriend.” He winked.

“I’ll hardly be your wife, Draco.”

His eyes darkened, and he wore a strange expression. “You will for the one night, Hermione.” With a blink, his expression returned to its former neutrality. “Unless you want to just let us die and have Hogwarts fall apart?”

She clenched her hands into fists. “We can’t let Hogwarts fall, not after the devastation following the battle. It took too long to restore to its former glory. It’s a symbol of hope and peace.”

“Let’s not forget some of us enjoy life as well, ‘Mione.” He seemed to be trying out her nickname, savoring it in his mouth like a wine he was evaluating for quality.

“Yes, I suppose there’s that too,” she admitted grudgingly. “Fine, one night.” What other choice was there?

“I’m humbled that you would deign to make the sacrifice,” he said with more than a trace of mockery, and perhaps a hint of bitterness.

“Can your mother arrange something? I don’t know where to begin planning something like this.”

“It will be taken care of. I’ll send you an owl with the date and time, shall I?” At Hermione’s nod, he rose to his feet and approached the fire. “Until we meet again, my charming fiancée.”

“Don’t be a git, Malfoy,” she called after him as he stepped into the fire, disappearing in a flash of green as soon as he dropped the powder he’d taken from the jar on the mantle. If she didn’t know better, she’d have thought he was almost enjoying the whole scenario, though that was impossible. He probably still loathed her as much as she did him, but even he wouldn’t be willing to put himself through this torment just to see her suffer. He had to be dreading the whole thing as much as she was.


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron and Hermione talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like Ron, but he kind of had to be an idiot/jerk for this storyline to work. Sorry, Ickle Ronniekins lovers. LOL

“No. Absolutely no bloody way are you doing this, ‘Mione.”

Her lips tightened at the way Ron was speaking to her. “There’s no choice, Ronald.”

“There has to be a way. We’ll find it.”

She scowled. “Don’t you think I’ve done that? I’ve spent the last few days researching everything I could think of. I’ve been to Hogwarts library, the Ministry’s Dark Arts section, and even Knockturn Alley. There is nothing that can break this contract.”

“I won’t have you sleeping with Malfoy.”

She frowned. “Do you think I want to?” A twinge of guilt unfurled inside her as she remembered the times when she had occasionally thought about Draco in a less-than appropriate way for one who hated her so vehemently. And that night after she had punched him in the face—well, she’d discovered the fine art of touching herself as she had imagined Draco falling to his knees, begging her forgiveness, and turning a new leaf.

The problem with that fantasy was he had never changed. Oh, he gave the appearance of being different now, but could anyone really change that much? She shook her head and forced herself to focus on Ron again.

“—lying, dirty troll-lover. You can’t let him do this to you. To us.”

She pushed a bunch of hair out of her face, carelessly noticing it was time for her to brew another anti-frizz potion. She’d been much too distracted over the past few days. Taking a deep breath, she tried to restrain her temper. “You must admit that Draco isn’t to blame for this, Ron.”

“Oh, it’s Draco now, is it?” His redheaded complexion was bright red in his anger. “You’re on first-name basis, huh? Planning to have tea with his mum? Snogging in the parlor? Looking forward to a good wedding night shag, are you?”

Her mouth dropped open. “Do stop being so immature, Ronald Weasley. If I don’t marry Draco and consummate the union, we’ll both die. So will Hogwarts, essentially.”

“I won’t have my fiancée with that git. His hands on you…him inside you…” Ron’s skin took on a green cast. “I couldn’t even bear to look at you afterward.”

“And this is all about you, isn’t it?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Why did I never realize what an incredible prat you are?”

“You really mean to go through with it?” His mouth opened and closed like a fish.

She glared at him. “Would you rather I died?”

He floundered for a second before shooting back, “If the alternative is bedding Malfoy, yes!”

“Get out.” Pushed to the limit, Hermione walked to her door to open it, returning to her Muggle roots for a spectacular expulsion from her home.

“No. We have to—”

He broke off with a cry of shock as she cried, “ _Wingardium leviosa_ ,” and flicked him out her door with a gesture of her wand. It sounded as though he landed with a heavy crash, judging from his cry of pain. Before she could change her mind, she modified her wards to refuse Ron access and cast _Muffliato_ to silence his pounding on her door.

Feeling utterly alone, she curled up on the couch and buried her face in a pillow. Harry would likely come if she called for him, but Ginny had been so sick recently that she hated to disturb him until her friend was out of the first trimester. It also wasn’t fair to put Harry in a position between herself and Ron. Plus, she couldn’t be entirely sure he wouldn’t share the same sentiment as Ron, though Harry seemed on slightly better terms with Draco. She didn’t think he would expect her to die rather than sleep with Draco one time.

How she missed her mum and dad. Hermione knew she had done the right thing to protect them at the time, but she hadn’t planned to give them up forever. It still puzzled her greatly to know why she couldn’t restore their memories. She must be overlooking something.

Those melancholy thoughts, mingled with her sadness from the scene with Ron, added to the anxiety pressing on her as the date of their marriage ceremony approached left her crying until she was limp, damp, and exhausted. Hermione fell asleep on the couch sometime hours later and had nightmares of Bellatrix LeStrange. The crazy witch wasn’t torturing her as she had done during the time of her incarceration in Malfoy Manor. Instead, she was fussing with Hermione’s veil and crowing about how happy she was to be getting a niece.

She woke with a scream lodged in her throat, finding that nightmare much worse than the reality of being tortured by the horrible witch. It took her a moment to realize a tapping at the window had awakened her. A sleek black owl awaited entry. Hermione opened the window, and it glided inside, landing on her lap with its leg extended. It was a striking bird, with a proud air. She knew without looking at the parchment in her hand that the message had come from Draco. The bird was too pretentious to belong to anyone else.

“I have no treats that you would find acceptable,” she said with a bit of attitude. “I’m all out of caviar and lobster.”

The bird seemed to look down at his beak at her and sniff before rising and leaving the way he’d come. It was silly to dislike an owl, especially on first acquaintance, but she decided she hated Draco’s owl.

The day was off to an inauspicious beginning as she read the parchment, discovering the wedding date was in four short days. Madam Milkin was expecting her tomorrow afternoon for a fitting. She didn’t see the need until she read that Narcissa had arranged for a photographer to capture a few images. No doubt, the Malfoys would have to announce the marriage of Draco for publicity reasons. Yet another reason to dread the whole business.

Of course, her primary reason for dreading it all was the wedding night. Her stomach fluttered in a strange way as she tried to picture lying in a bed with Draco. It would be quick and perfunctory, she was sure. The few times she had been intimate with Ron and been fast and awkward. She expected nothing more from Draco, especially in the circumstances. Thinking in blunt terms, all they’d really need to do was perform penetration. Would he even have to orgasm? She didn’t know about that and had no clue who to ask, or where to research. The answer wasn’t like to be in “Hogwarts: A History,” she thought with a small smile. Best to be on the safe side and let him…finish. It was better to do that than have to repeat the whole nightmare if Hogwarts decided they weren’t married enough.

“Stupid, bloody castle,” she muttered, crumpling the letter from Draco in her hand as she stared balefully at the fire.

Well, if he was going to need to complete himself, she needed to brew a foolproof contraception potion. They might be forced into this farce, but she was absolutely not about to sully the pureblood Malfoy line with her filthy mudblood.

Hermione blinked, abruptly realizing that no longer applied. By his crowd’s standards, she might have even higher standing than they did, since she was a descendent of Godric’s legitimate children, while they were Slytherin bastards. That still didn’t make her inclined to bear a little Malfoy.

Her heart pinched at the thought. Would there be a man in the future who could overlook this unorthodox marriage with Draco to build a future with her? Would there still be children in her future? She’d already adjusted her mental image of her babies to change their red hair. She struggled to imagine them with a different shade and gasped when the imaginary children in her mind suddenly had riotous platinum curls and big brown eyes. They were adorable, but she quickly banished the image. There would never be Malfoy-Granger offspring. She denied the small twinge of regret that pierced her, reminding herself she was regretting the possible loss of any children of her own, not mourning the fact she would never have Draco’s babies.


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The binding ceremony and consummation.

Inevitably, the day of the wedding came all too quickly. Hermione hadn’t bothered to confide in any of her friends that she was about to get married to the Slytherin prince. Ginny and Harry had too much to worry about, Luna and Neville were in a tense phase of their relationship, appearing close to breaking up, and Ron wasn’t speaking to her. Nor was she speaking to him, and she wouldn’t ever think to invite him to this travesty even if they were on good terms. She had some colleagues at work, but no one whom she was close enough to invite.

A few hours before the dreaded business commenced, she Apparated outside the gates of Hogwarts and waited for Filch to let her in. She couldn’t help recalling Whizbanger’s theory that squibs were a product of wizard inbreeding. Looking at Filch, she decided that explained a lot about the man.

He seemed just as surly as ever when he led her inside the castle and up to the sixth floor. “The headmistress set aside a suite of rooms for your use on the sixth floor, near the Ravenclaw wing. Figured it’d better be on neutral territory.” He chuckled darkly. “Can’t have the bride or groom’s houses hexing each other, can we?”

Hermione ignored him, not even giving a word of thanks or parting when he guided her to the right door. She felt guilty for the lapse of manners, but the sight in front of her soon wiped out that emotion.

Someone had gone to some trouble to make the room look wedding-ready. There were gauzy drapes and tulle bows, along with a mass of white roses. It was almost enough to make her sneeze, but two deep breaths acclimated her to the heady scent.

Narcissa was the first to see her and came forward. To Hermione’s great surprise, Draco’s mother put an arm around her shoulder without flinching. Of course, it was the fact she was no longer just a Mudblood that allowed Narcissa to do so, she was sure.

“Come with me, dear. There’s a room awaiting you.”

She nodded to Draco, who was busy talking with a group of house elves, seemingly without the imperious manner Lucius had always displayed toward poor Dobby. Hermione briefly recalled the Muggle superstition about it being bad luck to see each other before the wedding, but shrugged. It was apparently not a superstition held in the wizarding world, and really, could things get any worse?

Narcissa led her into a room that was obviously meant to double as the bedchamber for events that had to occur later. A snowy white cover over the bed looked soft enough to sink into, but she turned away from it ruthlessly, having no desire to indulge in touching it or imagining lying naked across it. Not that she would be naked, she assured herself.

“Draco told me your parents are…unavailable.” Narcissa’s expression showed sadness. “If you don’t mind, I thought I could act as your attendant, unless you have someone coming?”

Hermione shook her head, having already replied to Lady Malfoy’s owl asking about guests several days ago. “It’s still just me. And I would appreciate your help.” She was surprised to find she meant it. She had been dreading doing this alone, and even Narcissa was better than no one.

She hadn’t expected preparations to take long, but Narcissa found many ways to fill the time. By the time she had declared Hermione ready, the young witch had been scrubbed, polished, buffed, and styled within an inch of her life. This was even more work than she’d put into her appearance for her date with Viktor Krum. It seemed like a spot of bother for nothing, but she couldn’t deny she was stunning.

Her hair was smooth and shining, wrapped around her head in an elaborate twist. A silver diadem twinkling with diamonds Narcissa had loaned her adorned the intricate hairstyle. Her face looked fresh and beautiful, her skin fresh and dewy without even a drop of cosmetics. The floating white robe she had chosen sullenly at Madam Milkin’s was gorgeous, and the silver threads woven throughout sparkled in the light.

“Draco will be most pleased,” said Cissy, as she had insisted Hermione call her within thirty minutes of beginning the transformation.

She snorted. “You can’t turn me into Astoria, Cissy. I don’t think he’ll even notice anything different about me.”

Her future mother-in-law frowned. “Oh, Hermione, please don’t enter the union thinking thoughts like that. I have seen Draco with Astoria. She is a lovely girl, but not for him. I never thought they were a good match, even before recent revelations came to light.”

She managed a small smile. “Thank you, Cissy. It hardly matters though. One night, and this will be over.”

The other woman’s brow furrowed. “Perhaps you should consider being open to making this a real marriage, instead of doing the bare minimum required.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “I don’t think so. You couldn’t ever really want me to be Draco’s true wife any more than he could.” Or she could herself. The idea was laughable.

“Don’t presume to know my mind,” said Cissy with a hint of sharpness. “And don’t be so sure you know your own either, my dear.” Her tone had softened. “Just consider the possibility is all I’m suggesting.”

Since the older woman had been so kind to her, Hermione couldn’t bring herself to keep arguing. She pressed a kiss to Narcissa’s cheek and whispered, “Of course.”

“Well, I believe it’s time.”

Hermione walked out with Narcissa, threading her arm through the other witch’s. Her heart hurt as she thought of her father, who should be the one walking her down the aisle, with her mother waiting nearby, beaming approval. Her parents had liked Ron and would have been thrilled to see her marry him.

Perhaps it was best they weren’t here, having heard so many bad things about Draco from Hermione’s own lips throughout the years. They would have been anything but pleased to see this farce and nowhere near as gracious as Narcissa.

She was surprised by how handsome Draco was. He was tall and lean, with broader shoulders than she remembered, displayed to best advantage by the midnight-blue robe he wore. Her stomach quivered as she acknowledged she was feeling a spark of desire for the man who had been her nemesis when he was a boy. It was quite disconcerting.

A grizzled old man stood waiting for them. He was so thin as to be gaunt, in plain brown robes. A wreath of black hair encircled half of his head, while straggling curls struggled to fill in the rest. The lines on his face made it impossible to guess his age, though she wouldn’t be surprised to learn he was over one hundred.

As she reached Draco’s side, Narcissa stepped back to allow her son to take Hermione’s hands. She had the urge to pull away from his hold and run from the room, but restrained the impulse.

He turned her slightly. “Hermione, this is Master Owlbringer.” Leaning closer, he whispered, “He’s strange, but familiar with the kind of old magic used on the contract. I thought it best to marry in the way Slytherin and Gryffindor would have been accustomed to back then.”

She nodded her agreement, pleased by his logic. Ron wouldn’t have thought so far ahead… Forcing herself not to finish the thought, she focused on Master Owlbringer instead, following his directions as carefully as she had whenever Professor Snape had issued instructions for complicated potions that she knew he would be picking to death to find fault with Gryffindor.

She frowned when the master handed Draco a small silver athamé.

“When I give you the signal, you will cut your palm, Mr. Malfoy. Ms. Granger will then do the same, and you will repeat the binding words.”

She blinked when the master turned toward her, feeling as though she was caught in a harsh beam of light.

“Do you willingly enter this binding with full knowledge and consent, Hermione Granger? Do you accept the union and all its consequences?”

Willingly? Hardly. The meddling of two long-dead wizards had brought her here, and certainly not willingly. However, now that she was standing here, she was willing to get it over with and move on. The only consequence she could foresee was having to spend a night with Draco. Dressed as he was, looking so dashing, she decided even that wasn’t going to be too trying. She supposed that would count. With a long sigh, she said, “Yes, I suppose I give my consent.”

“Do you give your full and willing consent, Mr. Malfoy? Do you accept the union and all possible consequences?”

“Yes.” He spoke very intensely, as though he had given the matter a great deal of thought. She found it reassuring that he had considered all the angles and had only accepted this as the last resort after careful examination, the same as her.

“Make the cut, Mr. Malfoy.”

Hermione winced on his behalf as the athamé sliced his skin easily. When it was her turn, she was pleased to discover the blade was so sharp that the cut barely hurt.

“Join your hands.”

They clasped bleeding hands over a plain gold goblet, and the master began speaking. Hermione was quite familiar with Latin, but this was an old variation she didn’t really know. She was able to catch bits and pieces of his phrases, but not enough to truly follow along.

The first thing she noticed was heat rushing through her. For a moment, she thought the chamber had gotten hotter, but soon realized the fire was inside her. It was a light, yet insistent, sort of force trying to enter her. She could almost feel her magic fighting to stop the intruder for several moments. Then Master Owlbringer said something, and the struggle resolved. It went from an unpleasant heat to a soothing warmth.

The warm feeling suffused her, and she felt content, yet a bit on-edge. No, it wasn’t anxiety. What was it? Her eyes nearly popped out of her head when she identified what she was feeling as pure, unbridled lust for the wizard standing beside her. His blood mingling with hers, their magic joining, left her aching for a physical expression of the union. Who knew an ancient marriage ceremony was so aphrodisiacal? Perhaps she could write a paper about it…

The thought fled as they reached the end of the ceremony. Twin spots of pink had flushed Draco’s normally pale cheeks, and she was sure her face was in a similar state. Was he feeling the same all-over need for her? Her body practically vibrated with desire.

“This last part is for you, ‘Mione,” said Draco. “Keeping with your Muggle roots.”

Before she could stop him, or even think to protest—not that she wanted to—he bent his head to kiss her. His lips against hers made her melt against him, and the soothing warmth ratcheted up to something akin to an inferno in an instant.

With a whimper, she buried her fingers in his hair to drag him closer, deepening the kiss. Part of her knew they were behaving with a shocking lack of decorum, but she literally couldn’t stifle the impulse.

Vaguely, she heard the master explaining to Narcissa that this was an expected side effect of the joining. Cissy sounded disappointed, but resigned, when she told the photographer they would have to reschedule for photos.

Sometime later, awareness surfaced enough to allow her to realize they were still kissing passionately, and they were now alone. Draco must have realized it about the same time, because he broke the kiss and lifted her into his arms so smoothly that it seemed like he had done the move a thousand times before. Her eyes narrowed at the thought, but she pushed away her jealousy. First, any women before her had been in his past. Second, they had one night together, so what did it matter? Third, when the heck did she start feeling jealous of anyone, but especially women who had graced Draco’s bed?

The moment of lucidity soon passed while the fire inside her crackled, blazing hotter than ever as he laid her on the bed. The next time she had any awareness besides sensation, they were both naked, hands roaming freely over each other. She bit her lip, stifling a cry, when his fingers slipped inside her wet folds, rubbing in a slow and maddening way that had her squirming against him.

Abruptly, she realized she was holding his erection, but the knowledge didn’t repulse her. She vaguely recalled imagining this as a perfunctory joining with their clothes still on, Draco finishing as quickly as possible. How silly she had been, she decided, surrendering to the heat in her blood.

As they kissed and stroked, learning each other’s bodies, Hermione locked gazes with Draco. The tip of his shaft nestled against her center, and she parted her legs wider for him. There were myriad emotions in his pale eyes that she couldn’t process, but she could feel them sweeping through her. The link…or whatever it was…that their binding had created allowed her to share what he was feeling in a raw, intense way. Longing, desire, and anticipation all mixed into a heady concoction that left her breathless, even while moaning his name.

He entered her gently, and something coalesced inside her. She sensed instinctively that it was the final step required to complete their magical union. Their magic had bonded on a level she’d never even considered. Hermione lost her train of thought as he began moving. She clung to her new husband, matching his pace and losing herself in the surprising beauty of his silver-gray gaze. Why had she never noticed before just how much of his soul Draco carried inside his eyes?


	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning after and a startling discovery about the aftereffects of the binding.

Hermione felt awkward the next morning, waking up before Draco. Thank goodness she hadn’t wakened up after him, she decided. At least she could have time to dress and freshen up this way. Slipping quietly from the bed to avoid waking the sleeping wizard took all her skills of stealth. She wasn’t accustomed to morning-afters that required a quick escape, and it didn’t help that she was so distracted by the sight of him lying under the white bedspread, it covering him from the waist down. It took all her self-control, and a stern talking-to, in order to stop herself from peeling off the blanket and tasting his sweet skin.

She blushed, recalling she had already tasted him like that, and the essence lingered on her tongue. That was enough to send her fleeing from the bed, because her mouth watered to do it again. What was wrong with her? She had never enjoyed performing that task for Ron and had blatantly refused when Viktor had suggested it. Yet she had found herself almost begging him to let her last night.

The magic they had used was strong indeed. Dark too, she decided, as she cast a cleansing charm before tackling her wild hair. It had mostly escaped from the confines of the style Cissy had imposed yesterday, frizzing around her head and hanging partially down one shoulder. Standing naked before the mirror, she looked like a woman who had been thoroughly made love to for hours on end. That was exactly what she was, and it was disconcerting to feel the twist of desire in her belly again, urging her to return to Draco and the waiting bed.

No, she mustn’t do that. Master Owlbringer had told Narcissa it was a side effect of the ceremony. She just needed to put some distance between them, and her thinking would clarify.

“ _Accio_ robes,” she whispered, waving her wand. A moment later, the robes she had worn before the wedding came to her, along with the wedding robe. With a small, regretful sigh, she folded it carefully and placed it on the bar behind the door. Hermione didn’t bother with finding her underthings as she slipped on her serviceable green robe and crept stealthily from the bathroom.

Draco was still asleep, his arm stretched out across the space where she had lain, as though he had reached for her. The thought scared her. She assumed the binding had left him in a similar state, and it was a dangerous thought, speculating he was as ready for another round as she was.

Her own carefully nurtured self-image refused to allow her to be a wanton animal, lusting after a Malfoy. Strengthening her resolve, she spent a moment composing him a quick note for him before fleeing from the room as though Fluffy, the three-headed dog, was snapping at her heels. As soon as she cleared the Hogwarts grounds, she Apparated back to her flat, where she felt safe and on-kilter again for the first time since marrying Draco.

~~~

The sense of being back to normal didn’t last long. Hermione was soon sweating and shaking. Nausea churned in her gut, and she was hungry in a way she’d never been before, though no food appealed or could give her satiety. For the wildest of moments, she considered that she had somehow been infected by a vampire, but discarded that silly theory as soon as it came to her. No, this was more of the binding’s doing, she was sure. If she could force herself to stand, she would go to the library to research the issue. That was beyond her. All she could do was lie on the couch, body shaking, soul aching for the one thing that would end the suffering.

She didn’t know how she knew it, but she intuited being apart from him was causing this. Hermione gnashed her teeth, ignoring the admonishing voice in the back of her head from her mother, reminding her to treat her teeth gently. Convulsions left her wrung out and weak, but she refused to give in to the madness.

She forced herself to imagine Draco’s mockery if she contacted him and asked to be near him. That would be a humiliation unequal to any before—even the incident in fourth-year when Snape had dismissed her hex-enlarged teeth as normal for her. She would not give Draco an opportunity to shame her, and she wouldn’t give in to this need. It was beneath a Gryffindor.

Her resolve cracked around nine that evening, when she had been away from Draco for almost twelve hours. In desperation, she dragged herself to the fire, praying he was in his chamber. That was the only fireplace she had ever used to communicate with him, and only twice regarding wedding details.

“Draco,” she croaked. “Are you there?”

It seemed like forever before he appeared before her. She was almost surprised to see he was looking as strained and drawn as she felt. The magic must have had a similar effect on him.

“Thank gods, Hermione. I wanted to wait for you, so you didn’t feel pressured, but I don’t think I could have lasted much longer.”

“I need…” She trailed off. Her mind was clearing a bit, just from seeing Draco, but she couldn’t verbalize what her body ached for. Surely he knew?

“Come to me.” He issued the words in a silky way that brought to mind seduction, not coercion.

Hermione’s hands shook as she forced herself to her feet so she could reach the Floo powder. She was soon standing in Draco’s fireplace, taking the hand he extended to help her out. At the first touch between them, her shudders eased, and the fire-pain that had been burning in her settled.

When Draco pulled her into his arms, the fire flared again, but not in a needy, demanding way as it had been throughout the horrendous day. This was still hot and bright, but felt good, urging her to touch her husband and find bliss with him again.

“I had no idea the binding would cause this,” she whispered before pressing her mouth to his. They kissed long and deep, hands touching and stroking each other. She had been too shattered to even think about dressing when she had reached her small flat, so she still wore the robe and nothing else.

Soon, she didn’t even wear that. Draco had pushed it off her shoulders and into a puddle on the floor. Hermione didn’t protest. She was too busy fumbling with the black robes he wore, almost sobbing with relief to find him naked underneath as well.

“I had taken matters in my own hands,” he confessed between trailing kisses down her neck and across her chest. “I thought maybe all I needed was to come, and I could think again.”

“Did it work?”

He lifted one shoulder. “I never finished. You contacted me before completion, but I don’t think it would have. It was bringing no relief. Just the sight of you made me feel a hundred times better than wanking.”

She laughed a little. “I felt very relieved too. I need you, Draco.” It was humbling to admit it, but Hermione couldn’t stand to feel the pain again. “Please.”

“Yes, my love.” He lifted her buttocks and surged into her, taking her against the wall.

As Draco thrust into her, Hermione briefly wondered at his choice of endearments, but decided he must be as caught up in the intensity of the spell binding them as she was. It meant nothing. She didn’t want it to, she assured herself. Being Draco’s love was a preposterous idea. He would no more love her than he would Luna Lovegood or Rita Skeeter. Even with her Gryffindor bloodlines, she was still the same woman she had always been. He might be able to overlook her tainted Muggle blood, but she couldn’t forget how disdainful he had been of her when he thought she was _only_ a Mudblood.

For a second, she wanted to push him away. Then the heat surged as her orgasm approached, and she forgot all of her angry thoughts in her haste to join with Draco, to give him as much pleasure as he was giving her. It was such a strange juxtaposition, to find herself caring about his needs as much as her own. As she came, she cursed Gryffindor and Slytherin once more for thrusting her into this position.

~~~

It was sometime early the next morning before she had any ability to really think again. She had awakened beside Draco in roughly the same way as yesterday, though the wizard was also awake this time. Hermione had her face on his chest, and he was stroking her hair, separating the curls with his fingers in a method suggesting he was deeply engrossed in the task.

“Did you know the magic would turn us into randy teenagers, Draco?”

He laughed. “I didn’t expect this.”

“How long do you think this will last? When will the aftereffects wear off, so we can return to our normal lives?”

He tugged lightly on her hair, forcing her to tip her head upward to meet his gaze. “Why would we ever want to do that? We could spend the rest of our lives in this bed, making each other feel good.” His lips twitched, but there was a hint of seriousness in his gaze.

She scoffed. “The Department of Magical Law Enforcement won’t give me that much time off, Draco.”

“I’ll take care of us. The Malfoy coffers will support us for ten lifetimes. The house elves will bring us meals. We could just stay here forever.”

She scowled. “You have other house elves? I thought Dobby was your only one.”

Perhaps Draco saw the fire in her eyes. He lifted his hand. “Whoa. Hang on. I know how you feel about the issue. Even Slytherins heard about your PUKE organization.”

“S-P-E-W,” she spelled out, clipping the letters in her anger.

“Uh, sorry. Spew.” He pronounced it the same way Ron and Harry always had. “Believe it or not, I offered our house elves clothes about a year after the Battle of Hogwarts. Their plight of being forced to obey our family’s commands suddenly struck me, reminding me of how it had felt to be under the Dark Lord’s power.” He shivered, his expression shuttering for a moment. “Every elf refused, but they are treated well and live happily with us, Hermione.”

“How many?”

“Twelve.”

She frowned, but then sighed. Having spent some time among the elves after leaving Hogwarts, before deciding on a career in law enforcement, she had observed that most house elves would refuse clothes from even the harshest masters. The issue had stymied her, with no obvious solution, and had forced her to give up her original plans to try to get the Ministry to pass new regulations for the creatures.

After a moment, she managed a small smile. “Do you think one of the twelve would mind bringing us breakfast? I feel simply too lazy to move—” She broke off as one of the elves popped into the room, a silver tray in hand.

“Good morning, Lady Malfoy,” squeaked the tiny voice.

It was difficult to tell, but she thought this elf was a girl, going by the flowers embroidered on the shoulder of her pillowcase. Looking closer, she realized there was a name there too. “Um, good morning, Tally.”

“Tally is pleased to serve the new mistress.” The little elf put the tray on Hermione’s lap, removing the lid. “The master has Tally go to Hogwarts to find out Mistress’s favorite breakfast, he has. Tally listen to Winky. Winky is knowing what Lady Malfoy is liking to eat.”

Hermione surveyed the spread with appreciation. Kippers, eggs, grilled tomatoes, and toasted sourdough triangles awaited her. She blinked back tears from her eyes, touched by Draco having sent the house elf to find out what she preferred for breakfast. “Thank you, Tally. This is perfect.”

Another pop brought in a second house elf. This one appeared male, because he lacked flowers, but his name was still on his pillowcase. Arlo set a tray on Draco’s lap, nodded to the both of them, and popped out again.

“Arlo is shy, he is,” said Tally. “Would Mistress be wanting anythings else?”

“No, thank you, Tally.” To her amusement, the little elf disappeared without even looking at Draco. “Why didn’t she ask your permission to leave?”

He looked a bit embarrassed. “Tally is your personal ser—attendant, so she will take orders from you.”

She tilted her head. “Won’t that be confusing for her once I’m gone?”

Draco’s expression darkened, but his voice emerged sounding normal. “It can be fixed easily if you go.”

“When,” she said softly, before taking a bite of the kippers.

“If.” His eyes twinkled as he looked at her, catching her in the snare of his gaze. “We don’t know when the effects will wear off. You might crave my body for the next hundred years.”

She snorted. “I doubt we could put up with each other for a hundred days, Draco.”

Putting down his crumpet, he reached for her hand. Her breath caught in her throat when he brought it to his mouth to kiss the back.

“I could have you forever and not get enough, my love.”

She wanted to tell him to stop fibbing, to assure him she didn’t need his empty words of seduction. After all, she was quite firmly ensconced in his bed, and they were both left at the mercy of the binding, needing to be near each other until the frantic desire wore off. Looking into his eyes, seeing no artifice there, she couldn’t find any words at all. Instead, she let herself believe him, just a bit, as they reached for each other, breakfast trays forgotten.


	7. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens

It took precisely three weeks before they could be away from each other for more than a few hours at a time without that burning hunger and need overtaking them. They still craved each other madly, but it slowly settled to a level that was sustainable and compatible with having a life outside the bedroom.

Being a Malfoy had some privileges, along with being one of the Golden Trio, because her job was still waiting for her when she was actually able to physically tear herself from her husband’s bed and go in for nine-hour shifts. Her boss had never uttered a peep of protest at all her time off, and Kingsley Shacklebolt himself came down to say hello to her one her first day back.

That had been another change. She was no longer stuck on the nightshift. Hermione imagined there was a bit of preferential treatment going on, and that she might have been brought to the day shift before someone with more seniority, but it was hard to stir much concern for the notion. The unfairness bothered her, but she had other matters that consumed her thoughts far more intensely.

In the beginning, she had been determined to maintain her independence, to be prepared to move out of the Malfoy Manor as soon as she could stand the wrenching pain caused by being apart from Draco. As the days passed, and they settled into a routine, Hermione realized she hadn’t thought about leaving him for weeks.

She frowned as she mentally counted back how long she had been with Draco. Had it really been seven weeks? That seemed impossible, but she couldn’t deny she had been happy. Happier than she had ever been before even with Ron, whom she had thought she loved despite the many times she didn’t even like him all that much.

Thinking of Ron reminded her she hadn’t been a very good friend to anyone lately, so she sat down to write out notes for Harry, Luna, Neville, Ron, and Ginny. Ron’s was difficult, but she tried to keep it light, while letting him know she would always consider him a friend (emphasis on friend).

It wasn’t until she was finishing Ginny’s note, adding a postscript asking if the morning sickness had resolved, that she realized she hadn’t had a period in all the time she’d been with Draco. Her fingers froze on the quill. After a moment, she forced herself to finish the note and summon Talos, the arrogant owl of Draco’s that barely deigned to answer to anyone else. “Deliver these please.” At his imperious hoot, she said, “Go on. Lady Malfoy gave you an order.”

As the owl flew away, she resisted the urge to giggle at having used her title—something she studiously avoided—to gain the cooperation of an owl. Only the fear that she would dissolve into peals of hysterical laughter that would never end checked the impulse.

Tentatively, she touched her stomach, wondering if the next Malfoy was growing inside her. She didn’t see how it could be so, since she had brewed and continued taking the contraception potion daily, but there was only one way to be sure. In the Muggle world, she could pop down to the corner drugstore for a pregnancy test, but in the wizarding world, a trip to St. Mungo’s was the easiest way.

She sent a note to her boss informing him she would be late—really hating how her work ethic had slipped lately, but unable to make herself wait even a few hours longer for an answer—and then Apparated to the main lobby of St. Mungo’s.

~~~

When she returned to the Manor hours later, it was with the information that she was expecting a child. The Healer had pointed out, when she had denied the possibility, that even the best contraception potions might fail from time to time.

She was convinced it had something to do with the binding that had joined her to Draco. In an effort to distract herself from the looming task of informing Draco they were going to be parents, and dreading his reaction to an event they had never discussed or planned, she decided to research the spell that had married them.

Hermione recalled seeing a book on Draco’s desk shortly after she moved in. At the time, she had planned to peruse “Blood Magic: A Practical Guide to Marriage” when she had a moment, but the book had disappeared, and she had become consumed with physical gratification.

She looked on the bookshelves without seeing it. Finally, feeling like a dunderhead, she used her wand to summon the book. It came into the room a moment later, and she curled up in the wingback near the fire to read the thin tome.

Hermione was soon immersed in the theory behind the magic. Next, she read about the practical steps, and finally the effects. Her heart stuttered when she read:

_Of particular note is the binding’s ability to enhance feelings between the couple. The ceremony will not create emotions where none exist. It simply amplifies positive feelings and softens negative reactions to allow the couple a more harmonious union. This is particularly essential when joining a couple who has no real history and must create a foundation for their union. Considering the magical binding ceremony is eternal, it should not be entered into lightly or without serious intent and commitment from the participants._

“It didn’t make me feel…this way.” Hermione refused to label the softening she felt toward her husband with any word, especially the “L” one. “The binding didn’t create feelings of affection and desire. It simply enhanced what was already there, while softening my hatred toward him.”

She shook her head, not wanting to believe what she had read. It seemed impossible that she had had any kind of feelings for Draco.

But there had been more than one occasion when she’d been concerned about him. Hermione remembered expressing her concerns to Harry and Ron in their sixth year, certain something was bothering the Slytherin. She just hadn’t admitted she was also worried _for_ Draco, and not just _about_ what he was planning.

There had also been that moment when Bellatrix was torturing her that she had happened to look up and lock eyes with Draco. He’d looked so sick at what was happening, and he had been furious too. It had taken her a moment to realize his rage was on her behalf. Her eyes had widened when she saw him lifting his wand with deliberate intent, pointing it toward his own aunt. Certain she had seen him forming the first syllable of the Killing Curse, she had been relieved when Harry suddenly took Draco’s wand. Even in the depths of torment she had never known, she hadn’t wanted Draco to live with the burden of having killed his aunt or end up in Azkaban.

But he had been so cruel to her over the years. How could she even think to feel something for him?

But it had been years since he had been cruel, she reminded herself. Draco seemed to have made an effort to change since Voldemort’s defeat. She had seen no sign of artifice or pretending, especially when he made love to her so tenderly.

Biting her lip, Hermione returned her attention to the book, finding another passage that explained a great deal several pages past the last startlingly revelation:

_A known side effect of the binding is increased fertility for several weeks, up to a year, after the couple joins. Witches and wizards joined through other, less permanent bindings, might choose to undertake a blood binding in the absence of children or difficulty conceiving. The aftereffects are more powerful than the strongest fertility charms and almost impervious to any contraceptive potions._

A frown furrowed her brow. Presumably, Draco had read this book. Either Master Owlbringer had given it to him, or he had sought it out on his own before looking for a blood magic master to perform the binding. Why in blazes had Malfoy never mentioned to her that the binding would render her daily potion useless? He’d seen her drink the bloody thing often enough. It wasn’t something easily forgotten, even in the throes of the intense passions they’d felt for each other since their joining.

It was implausible that the knowledge had slipped his mind, leading Hermione to conclude Draco had wanted her to get pregnant. For what purpose though? It made no sense. Surely, he hadn’t been keen on diluting his bloodlines? After all, she might have Gryffindor blood, but she also had plenty of squibs and Muggles in the mix too. What reason could Draco have for deliberately hiding this from her and allowing her to conceive?

She was still trying to figure out the puzzle when a face appeared in the unlit fireplace. She jumped in surprise to see wizened little Barley Whizbanger staring back at her. Clutching her chest, where her heart pounded madly, she gasped.

“I’m sorry to disturb you thusly, Lady Malfoy, but it is urgent. The house elf told me you would be at this hearth.”

She set aside the book. “What is so urgent?”

“There has been a mix-up, you see…no, not so much a mix-up as a…” The wizard flailed, as though searching for the right words. “Deception,” he suddenly cried. “Outright deception. Dark magic, even, I suspect.”

Hermione frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“You were right, Lady Malfoy. A Confundus Charm. Had to have been.” He shook his head. “Zabini confessed, you see.”

“Confessed to what?” she practically yelled, though an inkling was making her blood run cold.

“He manipulated the parchment, or allowed someone else to, so you would appear to be the Gryffindor heir.”

Her throat clogged. “You’re saying I’m not descended from Godric Gryffindor?”

“No, Lady Malfoy, and Draco is not a Slytherin either.” He looked baleful. “Someone has been tampering. It must be dark magic. Zabini had the Imperious Curse, I think. Must tell the Minister…”

She was in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but Hermione couldn’t summon the will to care to take Whizbanger’s statement and escalate the issue to her bosses. The wizard talked for a couple minutes longer before his face disappeared, but she was beyond noticing.

It had all been a lie. Someone had deliberately confused the parchment to manipulate her and Draco into a marriage to fulfill the ancient contract. Who would do such a thing? Who would hate both of them enough to force them together like this? Was it some Death Eater plan? Did the remnants of Voldemort’s supporters believe they could finally have revenge in this strange way? Were they trying to use Hermione to spy on Harry, or something equally evil?

That made no sense though. Anyone familiar enough with the binding to use it, or powerful enough to confound the parchment, would know the aftereffects. They would have expected Hermione to fall in lo…be consumed by passion for her new husband and be completely distracted, making her an unsuitable spy.

No, that wasn’t true. The binding amplified positive feelings, but didn’t create them out of thin air. Whoever had plotted this clearly had a dark motive, but likely hadn’t expected Hermione and Draco to feel so…affectionate toward each other.

She was about to summon Draco to help her unravel the mystery when Hermione froze again. Draco had been the one to tell her the contract was unbreakable for the heirs. He had mocked her when she suggested trickery, asking who would bother. He had hidden from her the effects of the binding spell. It seemed obvious, whatever his purpose, that Draco had been the one behind the machinations that had led them to the marriage. It was the kind of plot a true Slytherin would easily dream up, but for what purpose?

Why had Draco done this to her? Why had he made her love him? Was it just to break her heart?


	8. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whys and hows

As always, Hermione turned to books for answers. Reading through the rest of the book on her lap didn’t provide any clarification as to why Malfoy had done something so terrible, but it gave her something more important. An escape clause:

_If one participant is bound without consent, or coerced into the binding, spilling the blood of the subjugator and speaking the incantation will sever the binding. The one with ill intent will suffer the consequences._

She bit her lip, considering what that might mean. What sort of consequences? How much of Malfoy’s blood did she have to spill? And did she qualify for the conditions? She had agreed to the binding, giving her consent. However, she hadn’t known it was an eternal binding, and she certainly hadn’t realized Malfoy had manipulated her into the predicament.

The skin on her nape prickled, hairs rising, as the pressure inside the bedroom changed as it did just before Apparition. In an instant, Draco stood before her, looking elegant in his slim-fitting slacks and charcoal robes. He greeted her with his usual bright smile, which slowly melted off his face, like a painting exposed to water. “What’s wrong, ‘Mione?”

She allowed herself a harsh laugh. “Oh, where to begin, Malfoy?” His flinch at her deliberate use of his last name pleased her. “Whizbanger’s head visited me this afternoon.”

His expression shadowed before going blank. “Oh, regarding what?”

“Zabini tampered with the parchment to reveal us to be the heirs of Slytherin and Gryffindor.”

“How extraordinary,” said Draco mildly.

“Whizbanger is convinced he was Imperioused, but I think we both know that isn’t true. Your best friend is Blaise Zabini, aside from Goyle. Was Sholto paid to do it, or did he just find the idea of screwing me over amusing enough to participate?”

“Neither.” He looked tired suddenly. “I asked for his help, and when I explained why, he agreed out of kindness.”

She snorted. “Kindness? When do you Slytherins ever practice kindness? Even Severus Snape, perhaps the finest Slytherin who ever lived, is not a man who practices kindness.”

“Sholto is my friend and knew how important it was to me.”

“Why?” She shook her head, hating the pain creeping into her tone. “Why would you want to use and hurt me like this, Malfoy?”

“Hermione, it wasn’t like that.”

She crossed her arms. “Then how was it? What possible reason could you have for keeping me from marrying Ron and tricking me into a blood magic ceremony that will bind our souls for eternity?”

“Because I bloody love you, Granger.” He snapped the words before going paler than usual. Draco barely made it to the chair near hers before collapsing. “I love you, ‘Mione.”

She laughed. “I don’t believe you.” Shuttering her expression, she reluctantly admitted to herself that she kind of did believe him. The binding amplified feelings, and she had certainly felt loved in Draco’s presence the past few weeks. But had it been his love she thought she was sensing, her own, or a combination? This whole thing was so perplexing, and she had no idea how to even begin sorting out the truth from the lies.

“I don’t blame you.” Slumping forward, he put his elbows on his knees to cradle his head in his hands for a long moment. Eventually, he looked up at her again. “I fell in love with you the day you slugged me in the face, Hermione.”

Her mouth dropped open. “You’re mad, Malfoy. That was third-year. We were thirteen. You couldn’t possibly have…”

His smile was sad. “Oh, but I did. I couldn’t show it, of course. I even asked my father once if any of his friends had ever dated Muggle-borns. He laughed and told me they weren’t for dating or serious intent. ‘Mudbloods are for fucking.’” He looked ashen. “I looked up to my father and wanted to please him, so I tried to embrace that idea. As the years passed, I cared less and less about blood purity. There was never a good time to let my change of heart be known, with other matters that arose.”

“Voldemort.”

He nodded. “I became a Death Eater at sixteen.” He rubbed, as if unconsciously, at the place on his arm where he bore the faded mark. “Do you know why?”

Hermione tilted her head. “I imagine because your father was a Death Eater, you were raised to be one, and you wanted to protect your mother.”

“And myself,” he admitted without shame. “I didn’t want to die. For all those reasons, I took the Dark Mark, but there was another one.”

“Another what?” Something Voldemort placed on his followers besides the Dark Mark?

“Another reason, known only to myself and the Dark Lord.” He looked drained.

“What?” Her stomach clenched with anxiety.

“You,” he said softly.

She shook her head. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not. Potter can tell you how adept the Dark…Voldemort was at reading minds, inserting images. When I had my interview with him, though it was more like a peasant’s audience with the king,” His lips twisted, either with amusement that he had been the peasant or the idea that Voldemort had considered himself a king, “And he gave me my assignment to kill Dumbledore, he read my thoughts that night.”

Hermione couldn’t look away from his gaze, hoping for a trace of deceit that didn’t seem to be there.

“He saw you in my thoughts. Oh, ‘Mione, he offered me the sweetest thing. If I was successful, he said you would be my pet after Dumbledore and Potter fell.” Draco scrubbed his face. “I wanted it very badly for a moment, until I realized that would mean I would control you. I didn’t want to be your owner. I wanted to be your partner.”

She blinked, telling herself her eyes were misting from the effort required to keep from blinking as she probed Malfoy’s gaze. There was no other reason. “That’s very unlike a pureblood.”

“Indeed.” He sneered a little. “Voldemort was displeased when I rejected his offering with a shudder of repulsion and a silent scream of horror. He told me that I could have you on his terms, or I could have your ruined corpse, but that I would never have you as my wife.”

“Your wife?”

Draco nodded. “Oh, yes. Even then, that was what I wanted. My father favored a match with Pansy, and I had been indulging in a light flirtation with Astoria, but I always knew who really owned my heart.” After softening for a moment, his gaze hardened again. “I knew the only way I could have you was to defeat Voldemort. Unfortunately, I didn’t quite have the bullocks to make that happen. I did the best I could to thwart him in small ways, but in the end, I knew he would kill everyone I loved, including you, if I didn’t get those blasted Death Eaters into Hogwarts.”

“And Dumbledore?”

“He wanted to help me. I was going to let him.” Draco’s voice cracked. “And then Severus came along and killed the old man. I didn’t know about the Unbreakable Vow then, and I didn’t realize he was trying to help me while fulfilling his promise to Dumbledore. I just saw my last chance for escape, to save everyone, fall off the Astronomy Tower. It felt like I had died that night right beside the old man.”

Hermione searched his face, analyzed his words, and found herself believing everything he’d said. “Is that why you didn’t identify Harry when we were at Malfoy Manor?” At his nod, she said, “And you were going to kill Bellatrix to stop her when she was torturing me, weren’t you?”

“I was. I have never used that curse, and I pray I never have to, but I would have that night to protect you.” He slammed a fist into the arm of his chair. “Instead, I did nothing, standing by like a sniveling brat and letting Mummy shield me from watching the woman I loved being tortured. Once again, Potter saved you.”

“I’m glad you didn’t kill her, Draco.” Hermione found her hand lifting to reach out for him and quickly forced it back to her lap. “You shouldn’t have to live with that kind of burden, and they might have sent you to Azkaban. Voldemort almost certainly would have killed you long before the Ministry had a chance to deal with the matter. I don’t believe he loved her, or anyone else—did you know you can’t love someone if you’re conceived under the influences of a love potion?—but she was useful and devoted to him. He would have made you suffer terribly for killing her.”

“I still should have done it. She hurt you.” He leaned back, looking devastated. “No more than I have, I suppose.”

To her surprise, he held out his arm. “What…?”

“Cut me, Hermione. Take my blood, say the words in the book, and it will end the binding. I’ll deal with the consequences.”

She frowned, realizing she never had decided if she wanted to go that route anyway. “What consequences?” It was an attempt to stall for time to sort out her decision, but she also needed to know. As angry as she was, she didn’t want him to suffer. Much.

He gave her a steady look. “Let’s just say I shall never bother you again, my love.”

She exhaled raggedly. “You’ll die?”

“Eventually. I understand there is a great deal of pain involved beforehand.” He lifted a shoulder, looking completely beyond caring. “It’s no more than I deserve.” Draco sagged slightly. “When you leave here, you should go to St. Mungo’s.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re probably pregnant. The binding often has that effect, and contraceptive potions don’t usually work until the fertility aftereffects diminish.”

She scowled, reminded of another reason to hate Malfoy. “Why would you do that? Why wouldn’t you tell me I could get pregnant?”

He gave her a wan smile. “Because I’m a selfish bastard. I wanted you bound to me in every way possible. I figured if you ever learned about what I’d done, you wouldn’t leave our baby, even if you had no qualms about walking away from me. I didn’t expect you to discover my plot so quickly.”

“Give me your hand.”

He flinched, but extended it.

Hermione held it in hers, wand at the ready. She saw him close his eyes, preparing for her to end the binding. Instead, she used non-verbal magic to perform a Truth Charm—a useful bit of magic Harry had learned in Auror training and shown her. After a moment, his eyes grew heavy, and he slumped back in the chair. She leaned nearer, to see his face clearly.

“Have you spoken only the truth to me tonight?”

“Yes,” he slurred, sounding like he’d imbibed too much alcohol.

“Do you really love me, Draco Malfoy?”

“Yes.”

“How do you feel about Mudbloods?”

“Filthy…”

She flinched, about to release him from the Charm and break the binding, when he continued.

“Filthy word. Stupid too. Blood is blood. You’re the brightest witch I know, and you’re no pureblood. Don’t care.” He gave her a dreamy smile. “Want you to have my babies.”

“Did you know the binding amplifies positive feelings for the joining couple?”

“Yes, ‘Mione.” He gave her a cocky grin. “Knew you loved me.”

With a sigh of exasperation, she asked, “Why didn’t you just tell me any of this instead of forcing me to break my engagement with Ron and tricking me into marrying you?”

“I did. Once.”

She sat up, startled. For a moment, she thought the Truth Charm had failed, but a quick wave of her wand showed it was still active. “No, you didn’t.”

“Did.” He sounded a bit petulant. “Worked up the courage for two weeks, Hermione. Summoned you here to the Manor one night to report a break-in.”

She frowned, not sure how he’d found a way to lie while Charmed. “That never happened.”

He nodded, slowly and carefully, as though he had to focus on each stage of movement. “It did. I told you everything then that I’ve just told you again tonight. You drank three firewhiskeys, while on duty, and looked like you would have a heart attack.”

She shook her head, still refusing to believe him. “I would have remembered that.”

“You sat on that sofa over there, with me, and confided that you didn’t love Ron, but you couldn’t break his heart by ending things. _You_ kissed _me_ , Hermione.” His cocky grin had returned. “You would have done more, but then you got summoned on another call. You sent me an owl the next day telling me you were sorry for the incident, and you couldn’t see me again.”

Her eyes were wide. “I wouldn’t—”

“When I tried to approach you, you did your best to avoid me. It finally became obvious the only way I would ever get near you again, in any capacity, was to Obliviate the memory of our encounter and just be happy to see you upon occasion. You were too bloody stubborn, too insistent on doing the right thing, to let yourself falter. You wanted me, but wouldn’t come to me, ‘Mione, so I took it all away.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “That’s very convenient for you, isn’t it, Malfoy? You can claim to have Obliviated the memory, and there’s no way to prove that, is there?”

“I can bring it back.”

Her scowl deepened. “Obliviated memories are gone. I’ve studied the area thoroughly, trying to figure out why—”

“Not for me. I have a certain finesse with them.”

With a wave of her wand, she released him from the Truth Charm. “Prove it.”

Draco’s expression returned to one of tension, along with deep concentration, as he touched the wand to her temple. She stared into his eyes, reluctantly impressed when her head started tingling where the wand touched her though he hadn’t spoken. The tingling increased, and tendrils of memory seemed to be growing inside her mind. A flash here and there of what he’d described. Vividly, she remembered sitting with Draco, shocked, dismayed, and also flattered as he ma de his confessions.

His lips on hers, and she realized she had been the one to initiate the kiss. Like a flower, the memory bloomed in her mind, until she could grasp it all. It fit in seamlessly, filling a void that she hadn’t been aware of until it no longer existed. Hermione gasped as her memory of the night came fully back, confirming everything he’d said.

She looked at him in stunned disbelief. “I was too afraid of what would happen, Draco. I thought my friends would hate me. Your friends would mock us. Your parents would disown you. Your father would try to kill me. It would be too difficult.”

“I know, my love.” He leaned just a bit closer, his lips almost brushing her cheek. “I understood then and now why you refused, but I couldn’t just let you go. I’m still a Slytherin, and this called for a mad, intricate scheme. It took some doing to convince Sholto and my mother to help me—”

She stiffened. “Cissy knew? She was in on it?”

“Yes, Hermione.” He didn’t look ashamed of himself or apologetic. “She has our familial bloodlines plotted back way before when we would have been supposed Slytherin bastards, so she would have known it was a farce. When I told her how much I loved you, and that I would do anything to be with you, she relented and agreed to help me, though she didn’t like tricking you.”

“Then she knows I’m just a Muggle-born?” Her eyes widened. “What will she say about the baby, Draco?”

He stilled. “Baby?”

She bit her lip, hesitating before saying, “Yes. I found out today. And then I read your awful book and realized just how you had bound me to you. I was livid.”

He touched her cheek. “I’m sorry. I am still willing to unbind from you, if that is your wish, but I can’t be sorry that my child is inside you. Mother will be thrilled to be a grandmother. Father…well, maybe he’ll come around by the time he’s released from Azkaban. I’m sorry you hate me now though.”

“I’m angry at how you did this, Draco, but I’m not sorry that you did, and I don’t hate you.” It took every drop of Gryffindor courage she had to admit that. It was humbling to know she had been outmaneuvered, and a bit annoying to find she didn’t even care all that much. She had Draco, whom she loved. How long had she loved him? How long had she denied it? It didn’t matter now. “I love you, Draco.”

He sagged with relief. “Thank goodness, ‘Mione. I’ve been hoping you felt that way.” Cradling her face in his hands, he kissed her mouth softly. “I shouldn’t have tricked you. It would have been better if I had fought for you.”

She shook her head. “I wouldn’t have let you. I was too stubborn to let go of Ron and embrace you.” Hermione sighed. “It’s a tragic occurrence, but I think the Slytherin slyness was necessary this time around.” Taking his hand, she added, “That doesn’t mean I’m okay with you manipulating me. I want you to swear you’ll never do anything like this to me again. In future, we’ll both have to act like adults and discuss the situation, rather than doing something on the other’s behalf. Agreed?”

“Shall I make the Unbreakable Vow?”

She shook her head. “That won’t be necessary. I trust you, Draco.” And wasn’t that a strange turn of events, where she ended up trusting and loving Malfoy, a former pureblood purist and Death Eater, more than any other man in her life? There was no denying the truth of it though. She loved Draco Malfoy.

Suddenly, she sat up. “Oh my god. You could un-Obliviate my parents, Draco. I know you can. If you can bring back my memory, you can bring back theirs.”

He didn’t hesitate. “I’ll do everything I can to make it happen.”

“Let’s go right now.” She bounced with impatience.

He put up a hand. “Wait. Can we please check with a Healer first, to ensure you can travel that far in your condition? And we’ll have to arrange a portkey.”

She bit her lip, hating the need to be patient, but understanding it. “Oh, very well, as long as it happens soon.”

“Very soon, my love.” He kissed her. “I promise.”

Hermione had complete faith in his promise, and in him.


	9. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New arrival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it didn't take that long to update/finish this. It was sort of an obsession to get to the end. I hate when I'm in the midst of writing those kinds of stories, but happy when I've reached the end of them. I hope you liked my version of J.K. Rowling's universe. (She owns it all, and I have nothing.)

The nursery at St. Mungo’s was sparsely populated with babies that night, but a gaggle of witches and wizards stood admiring one of the three infants behind the glass. Some would have considered it a strange sight to see Harry Potter standing beside Draco Malfoy, with a wan-looking Lucius Malfoy standing behind them. The older man had been released from Azkaban on compassionate grounds, due to an incurable magical malady that would shortly take his life. Seeing his grandson was one of the last reasons he’d had for clinging so tightly to his life.

His wife, Cissy, held his arm with one hand, her other holding the wrist of Jean Granger. Both grandmothers were equally teary-eyed by the sight of their adorable little Scorpius, with the wisps of silvery-blond curls on his head, and eyes they knew were a rich brown—when he bothered to open them.

Right now, little Scorpius slept soundly, as though aware some of the most powerful witches and wizards were oohing and awing over him, and that he wouldn’t lack for defenders.

Or friends. Little James was asleep in Ginevra’s arms, and Ron had his hand resting on the swollen stomach of his wife, Padma. Their whirlwind relationship had shocked everyone, including Ron, who would have sworn she would never speak to him again after the disastrous fourth-year Yule Ball.

Even Professor Snape had come to visit his godson’s son, having congratulated Hermione on her blessing in what had seemed a very heartfelt and sincere way. He stood near Minerva and Poppy, who were dabbing their eyes discreetly.

Hermione, sitting beside Scorpius’ incubator as they awaited a final checkup from the Healer on duty before discharge, met Draco’s eyes through the glass and smiled. Her grin widened when he mouthed, “I love you.” She knew.

Sometimes, she thought they had always loved each other, even in the midst of their worst rivalries. They might not be the real heirs of Gryffindor and Slytherin, but they had found a way to unite the houses that no one had ever expected. Muggle-born blood and pure blood had mingled to create the perfect little boy at her side. Once more, she was thankful for Draco’s scheming that had brought them to this point. Blowing him a kiss, she turned to greet the Healer as she entered, more than ready to return home and continue their lives together with their baby son.


End file.
